


The Accused

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [23]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Legal Drama, Lies, Mild Language, Pregnancy, contractions, procedural drama, so much legal, so much procedure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rukia is scheduled to be executed in less than 24 hours' time. Jūshirō and Hisana enter the Central 46 Compound, finding nothing but devastation. Renji contemplates his next move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accused

Without incident, Jūshirō and Hisana climb to the surface.

After the dank darkness of the tunnels, Hisana relishes the warmth of the thick, humid, summer air against her cheek as Jūshirō hoists her from the hole in the ground. Once she finds her footing, she inhales a deep breath, and she closes her eyes for a moment. The Eleventh smells just as she remembers—testosterone and male bravado, if male bravado  _could_  have a scent.

"Come," Jūshirō murmurs as he guides her up the stairs.

Her eyes flutter open. The bright sunlight sears her vision, temporarily blinding her. Speckles of flashing dots dance in her eyes, but she makes up for this disability by being swift on her feet.

Jūshirō doesn't notice her trepidation as he leads the way. His mind is laser-focused, and the pace he sets is relentless. She struggles just to keep up.

She isn't as nimble or strong as she once was. Encumbered, it takes a herculean effort to stretch her gait long enough to even  _hope_  to stay in accord with his cadence. Pings of pain prickle under her skin, sparking from her muscles, but she is mostly successful at ignoring the sensation of popping nerves and throbbing aches.

Feeling the cold gust of his captain's haori flutter, she halts. Hisana keeps her concerns and, more importantly, her  _words_  to herself. She feels uncertain. It has been  _so long_  since she last walked the paths of Seireitei. It has been even longer since she roamed the roads of the Eleventh.

_BAM!_

The edge of a blast's concussion shakes the division. Reflexively, Hisana crouches low and braces against the rumbling, careful to keep her feet planted on the ground waving under her. "What was  _that_?" she asks, catching Ukitake in her gaze.

"The sounds of change," he whispers.

That's putting it rather  _lightly_ , she thinks to herself, but, before she can inquire further, the good captain has her. Hastily, Captain Ukitake pulls her to his side. His touch is light and cautious as he directs her to the wall. With their backs pressed against the dimpled stonework, she watches the captain's every move, hesitant to draw breath. There is something lurking in Seireitei that provokes his caution. She watches. She waits. She does not make a sound. Does not draw a breath. Her muscles lock, and she goes motionless.

What is this?

What, exactly, has happened?

Neither of them should be so careful, not at the Eleventh. They aren't in enemy territory. Right?

A line of men rushes in front of the alleyway, the same alleyway that shields her and the captain from their sight. The men are the Eleventh's foot soldiers, and none of them brandish the cool confidence that Hisana has come to expect from the division and its men. The men speak in hushed whispers. Words and consonants dart and blur in the air, but she is certain she hears them speaking of  _the drifters_. Suddenly, she recalls Ukitake's words about an infraction. Maybe these drifters are the source of the infraction? Either way, these intruders appear to be quite a force, and she swears she hears that at least one of the  _drifters_ downed their fearless leader, the Kenpachi.

An involuntary tremor cascades through her at the thought.

 _Can't be_ , she tries to convince herself. The men of the ranks are prone to exaggeration, especially the Eleventh. They are always searching for a  _reason_  to fight. Maybe making these drifters seem formidable will incite an irresistible impulse to capture them? If they weren't made out to be strong, she doubts the Eleventh's soldiers would  _bother_ with the effort. She  _hopes._

She shudders.

Perhaps her husband was more prudent than she gave him credit, because, judging from the stiff lines and formations of the Eleventh's squads, something very ill must have fallen over Soul Society.

"Come, Lady Kuchiki."

Not daring to air a word to the contrary, Hisana follows a step behind Jūshirō.

He moves smoothly from one corner to the other. His tread is light, almost weightless. She envies this about him. In comparison, she seems large and blundering, and she  _is_. Her equilibrium hasn't recovered since her third trimester. She feels too top-heavy, as if she could take a tumble at any moment.

With a graceful extension of his arm, Jūshirō pulls her near. "Is all well, Lady Kuchiki?"

Like an oracle, he reads the locking of her muscles before she is even aware of the contraction. Immediately, she slumps forward. The movement is slight, almost imperceptible, but the pain etching her face with its twisted lines is not.

Clamping her jaw down and exhaling a breath through her teeth, she musters a small smile. The smile placates the captain; although, she wonders if he can detect the agony that she conceals. He probably can, but he forgives her lie.

She shakes her head. "Yes, Captain."

 _Please, hurry_.

Either out of respect or concern, he ignores the tension that builds in her stare and that bends her back, and the couple continues toward the Chambers. The duo flitter from one corner to the other, escaping the eyes and hears of the Eleventh's squadrons. Hisana thinks Ukitake takes some pride in his ability to slip through the cracks unimpeded. She, however, clings to his glances, movements, and silent intimations with every ounce she's got. No doubt, she would make a very poor Shinigami, and Hisana never deludes herself into thinking that she can outwit these men of the Gotei 13. She's quite aware she is no one's match when it comes to spiritual keenness, swordplay, or the spiritual arts.

The two continue through the division. She follows his lead, trusting the good captain's judgment. His judgment, as she assumed, is impeccable, leaving her to wonder whether he's familiar with  _all_  of the squads' maneuvers.

It is likely, she tells herself. Captain Ukitake is among the senior captains, having graduated in the first class at Academy. He probably knows all of the shortcuts.

Her trust is well-founded, for in a few moments, they are stepping across the stone path toward the Chambers.

"Lady Kuchiki?" The words go unspoken, but the tilt of his head and the lift in his brows inquire as to her health.

She's been better. The cramping in her abdomen has only intensified, but she keeps this information to herself. "Yes," she responds, offering a gentle smile.

He appears unconvinced, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. After all, Jūshirō is a prudent soul. He may be incredulous of her state, but he realizes that time is of the essence, and they are there for important purposes.

Ukitake's hand wraps around her wrist, and he pulls her along. His touch is light, almost imperceptible. And, for a moment, she wonders why he even bothers. Until, that is, she realizes that he isn't ushering her along so much as he is monitoring her condition. Whether he finds her state lacking or not, he does not say. Instead, the two proceed.

The Central Chambers are only a few meters away.

"Lord Byakuya," she begins as the pair dart behind a small, derelict building. The bricks are beginning to fail, leaving dust and soot in their wake.

Ukitake does not address her formally, but he does cock his head to the side, letting her know that he is listening.

"Have you seen him lately, Captain?"

For an instant, Ukitake appears nonplussed. Or is it guilty? Either way, she can tell he  _knows_  something—something that he does not wish to reveal. This leaves her spiraling in a whirlwind of  _horror_. She assumed this sudden  _disturbance_  in the fabric of her life was due to Rukia. But, could it be Rukia  _and_  her husband? Has something happened to Byakuya?

Her heart slams to a stop at the mere thought. He is so strong, so certain. She has never known a more steadfast leader in her life. Not once has she ever doubted her husband. He is her stalwart champion. If he fell, then….

She cannot bear to imagine the consequences if his life was extinguished. She needs him. The family needs him. His division needs him. Their  _unborn children_  need him. Without his presence in her world….

Her throat closes at the thought, and her mind immediately rejects the implications of his failure. It is impossible after all. Right? Byakuya Kuchiki failing? If he failed, then….

 _Her whole world would be shattered_.

She pushes these hypotheticals back, casting them into the deep recesses of her mind. No. She will not have any of that doubt. Her husband deserves better regard than  _that_. He is a captain. He is a noble. His hands are skilled. His ability is superior. He is a well-rounded solider, having taken great efforts to diversify his training. There is no way that anyone could claim a portion of his life.

No way.

Her heart falters at the thought.

"I saw Captain Kuchiki a day ago." For all the smoothness of his response, Hisana cannot help but hear the ragged edge that sets Ukitake's voice.

Glancing over his shoulder, he sees her worriment, and he pauses. There is a gentle urging in his stare, but she pretends that all is well and his concern is unnecessary. "We are almost there," Jūshirō digresses.

"Of course, Captain."

When they enter the Chambers' domain, Hisana immediately notices something is awry. There is a certain… _frequency_. The air feels  _electrified_  and  _static_  at the same time. It prickles the skin, drawing goose-bumps, and it sets the fine hairs of her arms on end. Never before has she felt such unrestrained  _dread_  upon stepping toward the entrance. The fear is real. It overwhelms her, crushing her resolve. She feels as if she is drowning, and, repressing the urge to choke on the heavy humid air, she sucks in a deep breath.

_What is this?_

The Chambers are like any other place in Seireitei. In fact, comparatively, the halls usually lack the intensity and frantic pace of the division nerve centers because the judges and staff lack the sort of spiritual energy that marks the Shinigami class. Because the judges, administrators, clerks, and servants are  _not_  spiritual powerhouses, the atmosphere of the Chambers is typically  _tranquil_. There is a seriousness to how the souls conduct business. Law-making and the issuing of sentences are accorded  _respect_  and are treated as grave undertakings.

But, Hisana has never minded her time serving the Central 46. Unlike the divisions, she never feels mentally taxed or physically depleted. Often, she wondered if this was because the judges and residents were so beneath that of the Shinigami or if it was by choice. When her services were requested as a courtesan, she was to "purify" herself by ceasing all sexual endeavors for the week before commencement of her service. She always thought this was a small but insightful look into the Central 46—they are concerned with maintaining at least the  _facade_  of objective tranquility and purity.

Ukitake, however, trudges forward, undisturbed by this strange, buzzing  _quiet_.

It is likely the good captain has not spent much time among the Chambers. And, why would he? The Central 46 rarely consults the Gotei 13 unless it is a matter directly affecting the ranks, which is unusual since the Chambers allots the military great latitude to carry out its duties. Whatever the Gotei 13 can argue is  _necessary and proper_ —an indisputably  _ambiguous_  standard—to achieve their goals, the Chambers does not question.

When she and Ukitake reach the guards' station overlooking the entrance, Hisana lifts her head. Instinctually, she eyes the small watchtower to find a lone guard pacing a line from the tower to the small bridge that stretches across the gates.

He does not notice them. He never responds. He doesn't even  _flinch_  at their arrival.

 _How unusual_ , she thinks to herself. Finding this curiosity troubling, Hisana's back goes stiff, and her eyes narrow. Will alone, however, does not bend the guard's attention to either her or Ukitake.

He continues to travel this rote path from the tower to the bridge. One, two, three, four times.

Ukitake steps into the Chambers' territory without hesitation. He doesn't seem to mind the oddity. Whether he even noticed it, Hisana is none the wiser. Perhaps the captain is unaware of the procedure, which is for the guard to check the guests for clearance? It's not as if anyone would really need to confirm Ukitake's identity. He is instantly familiar—an institution—in Soul Society. He probably has never had the pleasure of enduring the tedious handwringing of  _clearances_.

Hisana forces herself forward despite the flurry of thoughts that blankets her mind.  _It's nothing_ , she convinces herself as they reach the courtyard. Nothing to worry about.

"To the underground city?" Ukitake asks as they cross the concrete toward the gate that leads to a bridge. The bridge is connected to the top floor of the compound, which is surrounded by water. The top floor is merely the entrance. They will need to descend into the sprawling underground structure that houses the administrative offices, including the Diet Building.

She replies with a nervous nod of her head.

A charged silence fills her ears with static. It is a white noise, an electrical malfunction inside her brain. It is every muscle, fiber, tendon, and nerve telling her to  _run_  the other way and  _fast_. She has no doubt that her companion senses this impending doom as they near the gate. One look tells her that Ukitake is intensely perturbed. The good captain's demeanor does not reveal much, but she sees the subtle changes in his body and affect. His posture stiffens. His gaze becomes more sweeping, as if he is constantly surveying the area for danger. His eyes—usually so gentle—narrow, as if he is testing the spiritual waters.

"Is it always this quiet mid-day, Lady Kuchiki?" He pushes back the latch to the gate, and he holds it open for her.

"Not when the Central 46 is in session."

There should be clerks running back and forth between the rooms that circle the courtyard. There should be servants in the pavilion, waiting to take the staffs' orders for food, water, and any supplies. There should be sounds of feet clapping against the concrete, of orders singing through the air, of birdsong, and of doors slamming open and closed.

Instead, there is an eerie  _nothingness_  hanging in the air. The heart and mind do not miss the absence of activity, and, in retaliation, the muscles lock, become leaden, and shoot signals to the brain, telling Hisana to  _stop_  and  _analyze_. She doesn't. She ignores her intuition. Ignores her body. She presses forward. One step. Two steps. She swallows back her doubt, but, with each breath, the uncertainty building in the back of her mind proves increasingly difficult to ignore.

The two proceed toward the antechamber.

The air is stifling. It is hard to breathe. Everything is a stale ilk of still. Not even the waters surrounding the bridge dare to lap at the wooden pilings. Only nature knows what horrible things lay beyond the courtyard, portending the destruction that waits for them in that strange subterranean city.

The two enter the antechamber. Here, at least, there is  _sound_. The echoes of their footfalls fill the small space, ricocheting from one metal wall to the other as they descend. The stairs are winding, seemingly endless. Hisana, however, remembers the number well—72 steps.

Instinct bests her nerves, and she leads the way.

When they reach the final landing, her thoughts numb, and, out of force of habit, she moves to the small alcove at the foot of the staircase. In her years as a courtesan, one of her duties was to collect the mail and distribute the communiques and legal documents to the various offices. Now, even though her status relieves her of such a duty, she goes to the alcove as a measure of legislative activities. If the boxes are stuffed, she knows the legislature and judicial branches are considering many issues and cases. Empty? Then, there is little movement, and the clerks, staff, administrators, and judges are relatively unburdened. For her business as a clan member, knowing  _when_  is a good time to approach the staff and clerks with requests and favors is mere prudence.

Rounding the corner, she stops short.

Her expectations are clear: There should be few, if any, missives because of the recess. The staff that keeps the Chambers afloat during the break will have no problem with the housekeeping activities.

 _That_   _expectation_ , however, is turned on its head.

The small space is overflowing.

It takes her a few moments to sort through her own thoughts. Unblinkingly, she stares at the floor. Envelopes, small and large, are scattered across the marble, spilling from the small boxes.

"What is this?" Ukitake's voice is a low rumble in her ears, one that she easily dismisses as she bends down to pluck a letter with a familiar seal.

 _The Kuchiki crest_.

Her brows knit together, and she runs a finger over the red wax.

 _I haven't sent anything to the Chambers, and Asagao has not mentioned any pressing correspondence. Who would—_ The questions showering her mind cease the moment she turns the envelope over.

Her eyes widen. Her lungs expel every last molecule of air as if she has hit the ground with great force. Winded and deeply confused, she stares at the handwriting.

_It cannot be. Why? Why would he…._

She rips the paper back, breaking the seal. Adroitly, her thin tapered fingers curl around the contents of the missive. It is a standard motion to dismiss. All of the parts are there in her hands. Swiftly, she flips through the pages, searching feverishly for the reason.

What proceeding would the Kuchiki seek to dismiss? And, more importantly, why does she not know of this?

"Hisana?" Ukitake's voice tugs a little harder at the strings of her awareness. Likely, he is growing impatient with her dallying, but….

Engrossed, she takes in every character and every word. With each line, her emotions unspool inch by painful inch until she is reeling, stripped and raw. The cracks in her repose begin to deepen. The sensations of icy horror begin to invade in the spaces as her fault lines separate. Then, the sharp stabbing sensation of pain hits her core, and the despair fills her.

Stubbornly trying to master her baser instincts, she reaches for another letter, eyes glued to the explosion of white, searching for the familiar penmanship, the familiar crest of her  _family_.

"Lady Kuchiki?" The good captain's voice barely breaches the surface of her sorrow, of her agony, of her rancor. It is easy enough to ignore. And she does, reaching for another envelope and ripping open another motion. She unfurls the legal paperwork, and she tears through the arguments, carefully plotted and worded.

Then, another.

And, another.

Her hands tremble. Her grip fails her. She is laid bare—a soul sprawled across the heart's rocky edges and bleached by the waves of emotional discontent. To think it started so simply. A request for a hearing. Then, a request for a trial. Then, a request for a dismissal. Then, another request. Then…. Then….

The timeline of events—of treachery, vicious and dark—forms in her head. Each letter and every date plot across a thin line, beginning at the end of last month and stretching until today.

All this time has passed and she never even  _knew_. There were so many chances for her to find out. There were so many instances where she could have been made aware. Someone could've informed her. She could've—no, she  _would've_ —done  _something_ , but she was denied any and all opportunity to help her own blood.

Her own  _sister_.

Sentenced for death.

Over what?

Over  _nothing_.

Like a wildfire, a burning conviction rips through her, pulling her soul asunder and setting her blood on  _fire_. She stands, eyes dark and countenance blank. "Follow me." A wintry gust cuts the air in her wake.

Ukitake's gaze follows the fluttering leaf of the letter that slips from her grasp to the floor. He plucks it from the sea of white, and he balances it between his thumb and index fingers. It takes him a moment—singular and swift—to string together the pieces of thread that left him hanging onto uncertainty with both hands.

" _Byakuya_."

He follows her into the center of the underground chambers. The Diet Building, a grand hexagonal structure extends up, and up, and up. It is massive, and it looms overhead. It casts a long shadow, one that falls over the pair like a velvet blanket.

It seems all too appropriate, Hisana reflects to herself as she stares into the inky veil. At the present, they surely stand in the shadow of law. In more ways than one.

Hisana approaches the structure with a quick step. A vicious will and an ill intent imbue her until she worries that her state of malcontent will drown her. She comes to a hard stop before the imposing gates of the edifice. The rich mahogany doors glisten in the artificial lighting.

Hisana waits before she realizes the door is sealed and no one controls it. Questioningly, she turns to Ukitake.

"The Chambers were placed on lock down after—," he hesitates, closes his eyes, and inhales a troubled breath.

The need to protect her from the state of affairs falls from him. Whatever noble-minded beliefs that once prevented him from speaking freely, break, and he continues, "—after the invasion and death of Captain Aizen."

Her eyes widen to the size of saucers. "What?" Did she hear that correctly? She couldn't have. Aizen, dead? An invasion? Her sister sentenced to death on a make-believe order?

She cannot accept these facts as truth. It is simply too much to process at once, and her cognitive abilities are already too overloaded with news of her sister's impending execution.

"But," she says, pushing aside the thoughts of death and invasion and focusing on the lockdown, "but if the Gotei 13 sealed the Chambers, then—"

"—you would expect more security than  _no security_ ," Ukitake finishes her thought before the words come, and his gaze flickers to the Diet Building.

Indeed.

If an order for complete isolation had been executed, she would expect nothing less than several high-level barriers and a dedicated  _fleet_  of men standing guard. Not  _this_. This is  _nothing_. She has more security at Kuchiki manor, and she's  _not_  a vital part of the functioning of Soul Society. She's not even a  _cog_ , let alone one-half of the machinery that keeps the Living and the Dead secure.

Ukitake quietly unseals the doors, and the two cross into the foyer. The thirteen seals separating the entrance from the Assembly Hall are closed. Ukitake, however, is quite competent at breaking seals, and the barriers prove to be only a small nuisance. Once Ukitake breaches the last of the barriers, the two step across the threshold into the Assembly Room.

"They secured an empty room?" The observation falls heavy from Hisana's lips.

A cursory look proves problematic, and, so, she scrutinizes each seat. No amount of examination, however, illuminates the confusion that blackens her mind. "Why would they do that?" The question is rhetorical. There is no way Ukitake can answer. He's probably wondering the exact thing.

Moving slowly, step by step, she stops at the second row. Yes, the second row is where several of the Kuchiki legislators are positioned. She eyeballs the number of seats before making her way to where Hisao Kuchiki should be. His number placard sits on the desk. His number, 28, carved into the wood. She takes the piece of wood in her hand. It is a careless move on her part, but the texture keeps her mind distracted as she tries to solve the riddle of locking an empty room.

"Perhaps they were evacuated to the Seijōtōkyorin?" Ukitake offers his answer, one that, at first blush, seems entirely too prudent.

"Then, why bother with the Assembly? No one seals an empty hall." Seems like such a waste of energy, especially if the Gotei 13 was sincerely worried after the judicial and legislative branches. And, if there is anything that Yamamoto hates, it's expending effort for  _nothing_.

"Maybe it is a diversion?" Ukitake seems less satisfied with this response than she is. "Can't be," he begins, reordering his thoughts. "If they were moved to the Seijōtōkyorin, then how are they continuing to hand down orders?"

"Orders?"

He nods his head. "Today. They ordered Rukia's execution to be moved to tomorrow."

"What?" Hisana goes stock-still, and her mind works at great speeds as she tries to wade through the quagmire that is her emotional state, reaching desperately for her more rational self. "They couldn't be making orders if they are adjourned." That much is dumb-obvious.

"Maybe they recently suspended proceedings?" Again, Ukitake doesn't like the sound of his own logic. "No," he mutters under his breath.

If they didn't issue the order, then someone else did.

But, how? How could that  _be_? How is that even possible?

Hisana heaves a sigh, and, upon setting the placard on the ledge, she catches something out of the corner of her eye. A black substance coats the pads of her fingertips. Rubbing her thumb in a circular motion against her index and middle fingers, she watches as the black layer begins to flake off her skin.

_How odd. What could that be? Dirt? The Hall doesn't look particularly unclean._

Absently, she lowers her head and takes in the smell of the substance.

_Blood?_

Her heart skips a beat before jumping into high gear.

_It can't be._

Her senses must've tricked her.

To be sure, she slides her hand across the desk, and, glancing down, she starts at the sight. "Captain?" Her voice pulls him close, and he shares her gaze.

"What?" He seems puzzled at her discovery. Silently, he observes the flaky blackness. "It looks like dried blood. But—" before he can finish his observation, he swallows his words.

There is a shift. It is sudden. It is complete. It stops the heart, and it strangles the breath. The world seemingly tilts on its axis. In a blink of an eye, physics and logic peel back.

Hisana lifts her gaze, and she stares, uncomprehendingly, into the Hall.

"An illusion?"

Indeed, reality has drawn back the proverbial curtain, revealing the grisly horror nestled under the ersatz version of the Assembly Hall. An ocean of black blood and decay engulf them. How had they not seen through the façade? The smell alone should have alerted them to the macabre hidden from their awareness, but, a few seconds ago, there was no telltale odor marking a mass gravesite. No. A few seconds ago, there was only the broken logic and questions. There was only the eerie quiet. There was only the humming white noise that portended the massacre beneath the quiet calm.

"They're all dead." In a rare moment of discomposure, Ukitake's voice wavers. His disbelief, however, is acutely shared, but no amount of staring, blinking, or wishing alters the carnage. "Dead," he repeats under his breath, and he swipes away some of the blood crusted to the desk. "Days, at least."

"By the smell," Hisana murmurs, "many days." She remembers the pungent, acerbic fragrance of decay from Inuzuri, and her throat struggles to keep open. Souls sometimes collapsed shortly upon arriving, where they would remain for  _hours_ , baking under an angry sky.

In an instant, the two share a worried glance. The realization grips them both, and it doesn't let go. If the Central 46 was murdered  _days_  ago, then who or  _what_  has been manipulating the Gotei 13?

"Kotetsu and Kotsubaki," Ukitake calls, cupping a side of his mouth.

Seemingly out of thin air, the dynamic duo manifests. Bowed low and groveling for their captain's approval, they give their greetings, but, what starts as a soulful explanation of  _why_  they have been tailing their captain, soon morphs into a fight. Both adjutants begin to argue over who is the most faithful and deserving of the captain's attention and, more importantly, next order.

"Take Lady Kuchiki to the Sixth."

"Captain Ukitake," Hisana protests. A pleading glance, however, does not put a dent in the Captain's resolve.

In response, he lifts a hand and gives a shake of his head. "Lady Kuchiki, your assistance has been indispensable, but—" He does not finish. Doesn't get the chance. A loud din pierces the captain's words, and a firm nod sends his subordinates flying toward the door.

"C'mon," Kotetsu orders and takes Hisana's right arm in an ironclad vice grip.

"This way!" Kotsubaki grumbles, fingers digging into Hisana's left arm.

The disagreement quickly escalates, and Hisana is trapped in the middle. Her body is tugged in opposite directions, like a piece of meat between two hungry dogs. She fears they may actually tear her down the middle.

"Go!" Ukitake's sharp instruction whips them into compliance, and, jointly, they usher her through the thirteen broken doors and up the stairs.

Upon reaching the surface, the shades of nightfall cover them.

How long has she under the city? Along with her ability to detect massacres, did the illusion rob her of her sense of time as well?

She never has the chance to ponder these questions with any great detail because a few quick flash-steps make use of the entire compound, and they skid to a halt in neutral territory, where the pair begins to argue over which division Ukitake said to take her.

"It was the Sixth," Kotetsu says.

"It was the Thirteenth!" Kotsubaki growls.

Taking this moment as a prime opportunity to extricate herself from the soldiers' grasps, Hisana wiggles free and takes a few cautious steps away from the brawl that soon commences. Rukia mentioned the two's love of Ukitake, but she omitted a few  _key_  details.

"Miss Kotetsu," Hisana's soft voice calms the battle.

Mid-wrestle, Kotetsu pokes her head up, and she turns her attention to Hisana. "Yes?" she asks, politely.

"Where might I find Vice Captain Abarai?"

"He's locked up at the Sixth," Kotsubaki interjects before Kotetsu has the chance.

"No, he's  _not_ ," Kotetsu grunts and hits her friend on the head, her knuckles burying into his scalp. "Captain Ukitake requested his transfer to the Thirteenth." Her voice and cadence are snarky, as if she finds her fellow Third-Seat's intellect  _lacking_.

"Ugh, uh." Kotsubaki shakes his head and shoots Kotetsu a wry smirk. "All transactions between the divisions were suspended when martial law was declared. We don't got our Vice Captain. He's still locked up at the Sixth."

"Huh?" Kotetsu exploits an opening in Kotsubaki's arms, and she ducks under, escaping. "Yeah," she begins, eyes flickering up as if she is rethinking her previous answer. "Vice Captain is at the Sixth."

"Kotsubaki," Hisana begins, careful not to whip the two into another frenzy, "would you mind escorting me to my husband's division?" Before the two can begin to scuffle over assignments, she turns to Kotetsu, and, with an even tone, she asks her, "Would you mind terribly fetching a member of the Fourth for Captain Ukitake? There may be survivors trapped in the Central 46 Compound."

Both sit straight up, and, with great resolution, they salute her. "Of course!" and "Yes!" pelt her at the same time.

Hisana smiles, "Thank you so much," and she bows, grateful for their assistance.

Smiling, Kotetsu gives Kotsubaki a playful glance. "Bet'cha I can beat ya."

"No way! You're too slow!"

Before Hisana can protest the breakneck speeds, she is sent flying through the air toward the Sixth, never quite knowing what challenge, exactly, Kotetsu had set. When they land, Kotsubaki steadies her before releasing his hold of her shoulder. "Is Lady Kuchiki okay?"

Shakily, she gives a small nod and forces an assuaging glance. "Yes." Her voice, however, is weak and throaty. A jittery step betrays her even further, and the Third Seat lends her an arm when she falters.

Her cheeks flush at her blunder, but she keeps moving. "Thank you, Officer."

It doesn't take long for them to make it to the Sixth's main offices, where her appearance elicits a barometric drop in pressure.

The kinetic energy that preceded her entry grinds to a halt.

It is Rikichi who finally greets her with an uneasy little nod of his head. He looks as if he's seen an apparition. His complexion becomes pallor, beads of sweat form at his hairline, and his breath appears to be hitched in the dip of his throat. "Lady Kuchiki." Even his voice quavers.

Hisana pretends that she doesn't notice the slight trembling of his muscles. She pretends that she doesn't see his fear. She pretends that all is right and fine. "Is Captain Kuchiki present?"

"He-he-here?" the boy stutters, trying his best  _not_  to expose his fear but failing miserably. "Captain Kuchiki?"

Hisana's smile lengthens and, in a graceful bow, she lowers her head. "Yes, is he here?"

The boy answers, first, with silence and, then, with a frantic shake of the head. "No, ma'am." Disappointed with his performance, the boy hangs his head.

Hisana knows he must feel ashamed, and, normally, she would lend an understanding ear, but, now, isn't the time for such pleasantries. "Is Vice Captain Abarai present?"

This question sends the boy's head jerking up, and his eyes go so large she can see the whites. Immediately, he raises his arms, hands palm-side up. "No, no, no," he says more so to himself than to her. "Vice Captain Abarai is not available. He's—" Stopping short of completion, the boy nods as if he has made his sentiments perfectly clear.

He hasn't.

"Lady Kuchiki." This time, the voice is gentle and feminine, sounding from behind Rikichi.

Hisana raises her head to find Mihane Shirogane. "Officer," Hisana greets with a formal bow, "it is a pleasure."

"Captain Kuchiki has been searching for you," she says as neutrally as possible, but there is an unmistakable bite to her voice. While never spoken, it is clear to Hisana that Mihane disapproves of her actions. Most probably, Mihane disapproves because those actions have elicited Captain Kuchiki's displeasure.

"Oh?" Hisana feigns ignorance as a default, but, on second thought, pleading ignorance seems patently  _stupid_ , and Mihane doesn't buy her act.

"Yes."

"Where is he, now?"

"A meeting of the Captains."

 _Good_ , Hisana thinks.  _That will keep him busy for the time being_.

"May I speak with Vice Captain Abarai? I've been informed that he is here."

 _Locked away_.  _Probably for no reason_. She keeps the latter thoughts to herself. Mostly. She's too weary to put on a diplomatic face, and Mihane wouldn't believe her if she did.

"He's been placed in confinement, and he's not allowed visitors."

Translation: Hell no.

Hisana lifts her head, and, violently, her mind weaves together a workaround. "I see," the pitch of her voice lowers a few octaves. "Did you know that under Section 484-502.9 of the Procedural Code that the Sixth Division is under the specific auspices of  _both_  the Kuchiki clan  _and_  the Gotei 13?"

Mihane's jaw clenches at this, but she follows along. "Yes."

"It's quite a predicament. Ordinarily, the chain of command is through the ranks, but the Kuchiki clan is allowed particular control of the functioning and operation of the Sixth Division."

Mihane's gaze falls to the floor.

"With the Captain on an errand and with there being no Vice Captain, this means the second in command of the Kuchiki Clan may make requests as if he or  _she_  was an officer of the ranks."

Mihane shuts her eyes and inhales a deep breath.

"Do you know who the second-in-command of the Kuchiki Clan is?"

"The Lady." Mihane's consents to her defeat with a gentle bow of the head. "Please follow me, Lady Kuchiki."

Hisana and Kotsubaki follow Mihane down a few flights of steps into the jails, where she hands Hisana and Kotsubaki off to the cell warden.

"Abarai's in the third cell," the warden states, and he jerks his chin toward to left. "Third one from the end. Take a left at the fork."

Hisana flashes a smile. "Thank you."

She and Kotsubaki follow the guard's instructions, and, as they round the corner, Kotsubaki dips his head down toward her. Confusion swims in his eyes. "Was all that  _true_ , Lady Kuchiki? About how the Sixth's chain of command works?"

Hisana squelches a giggle into the silk of her sleeve. "Not a word, dear Kotsubaki."

His brows shoot up at this, and he smiles. She can't help but wonder if he is secretly  _relieved_  at the news.

"Then, what section did you rattle off back there?"

"The Penal Code section for  _fraud_ ," Hisana says, teasingly.

He gives her an amused stare, but he keeps his lips shut.

When, they reach the fork described by the warden, Hisana pauses and asks, "Would you mind standing guard here?" What she is really asking for is a moment of privacy.

Kotsubaki understands the unspoken nature of her request, and he obliges her. "Yes, milady.  _Although, I don't think I'll be much of a match against Captain Kuchiki_ ," he quips.

She doesn't either, and, briefly, she wonders if even  _she_  could quell whatever mood her husband will be in when he finds her, especially given this recent manipulation.

She is going to be in so much trouble.

* * *

A restless arm slings across his bed. The impact of his shoulder slamming against the lumpy stone-hard futon rouses him. Listless and bleary-eyed, Renji's eyelids blink back. The rich blackness of nightfall settles around him, making him wonder if he even opened his eyes in the first place.

He did. He realizes this when he catches a glimpse of the moon in his periphery. Hanging high and not obscured by the jail's bars, the slivery light reaches him. It is majestic. It lifts the spirit, but only for a second. Only until he realizes that he is still in the jail. That he's still at the Sixth. That Rukia is beyond his reach, like always.

 _Dammit_.

He throws his weight to the side, and he curls up, hoping he can wrestle down a position that is more comfortable than the last. The coils of the cot pinch his sides and leave imprints along his thighs.

 _This is fucking awful_.

How many times has he thought those very words  _that_  week? A hundred times, at least.

Yes, things were fucking awful, and they seem to be careening from fucking awful to fucking impossible at breathtaking speeds. And, where is he? Trapped, bound up, and  _leashed_  like a damn dog.

 _What a friend_ , he rebukes himself. If only he had been quicker, faster,  _better_ , he could've spared Rukia from the grips of her brother  _and_  Soul Society. But, he couldn't. Neither could the kid. But,  _damn_  they tried.

Flinging himself to his other side, he stares into the darkness. There has to be another way, he thinks. He could….

His lips slope into a frown.

There is nothing he can do.

He's never been much good at kidō —at least, he's never been much good at wielding kidō in a way that wouldn't leave  _him_  the victim of his own attack—and Captain Kuchiki had enough wits about him to strip him of his Zanpakutō.

So, he's pretty much  _fucked_.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and he tries to clear his thoughts. No, he was never much use thinking when his emotions went unchained. Too much to sort through. If only he could meditate on it, then  _maybe_...

If only he could gag his doubts and rage,  _then_  perhaps...

Yet, when he closes his eyes, all he can see is the scene that draws his ire—his defeat at the hands of Rukia's brother. It didn't take much, he hates to admit. He had a slight edge on the kid's vain attempt at overwhelming Captain Kuchiki, but not  _much of one_.

If only he had taken his training at the Eleventh  _more_  seriously, then he would've spared Rukia.

But there is nothing to gain by playing another painful round of would've, could've, should've.

Reflexively, his eyes snap open.

There is  _something_  lurking just beyond the shade that blankets the area below his window. No, the starlight does not reach that far. The silvery threads of illumination dim just before the bars to the jail cell proper begin to sprout up from the ground.

He settles down for a moment, convincing himself that it is all in his head.

Then, he hears it again. It is soft. It sounds like thin metal scraping the inside of metal. "Who's there?" he calls out.

The shadows shift, and his eyes finally begin to adjust to the silky colors of black and midnight blue.

The stirring ceases, and he waits. A good minute. Then, he drops his head back down to the futon. He swears he hears  _something,_  and that something lingers just beyond his cell. His eyes remain locked on the bars, and his lenses slowly begin to adapt to the darkness.

Moments, long and tense pass between his initial disturbance and the next, when he sees  _her_. Her skin glows a milky blue in the night's shadows, and twilight dances in the long tresses that tumble down her shoulders.

"Rukia?" He knows it is impossible, but the reiatsu is instantly familiar, and Rukia is the only woman who he knows with any great intimacy.

The woman glances up as she finds the release to the padlock, and she throws the door back. As it swings open, the hinges creak under the rusted weight of the iron. "I'm afraid not," the woman says, and she stands.

"Lady Kuchiki?" Without a moment's hesitation, he springs up, into seated position. His eyes go wild as he finds her in the dark.

No, indeed, that voice does not belong to Rukia. It is too low, too still. And, long hair? Rukia doesn't have long hair anymore, he reminds himself. Lady Kuchiki has long hair—hair that she ordinarily pins into buns. She must've used one of the hairpins to unlock his cell.

Crossing into the cell with a silence that he comes to expect from the Lady of the Kuchiki, she greets him with a gentle smile. Between her index finger and her thumb is the pin, bent into an elongated fashion.

Following his gaze, she shoots him a reassuring look. "Lock picking—a skill I acquired while in Inuzuri."

His amber eyes finds her, and he grins. He is sure it isn't the  _only_  skill that she picked up while in the slums. But,  _yeah_ , lock picking was a fine skill if there ever was one. At least, at the moment it was.

"Lady Kuchiki," he manages, remembering their relative positions. He bows his head slightly, and she reciprocates. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course."

He scoffs at this, and he folds his arms defensively against his chest. "Captain Kuchiki had me locked up."

A wry smile bends her lips, and the white moonlight paints her skin and radiates in her eyes. "A fine thing, sparing you from the Nest of Maggots." She offers him her hand. "My husband's charity is boundless."

He shakes his head before reaching for her in the darkness. His fingers find hers. Her hands are cool to the touch, but they are strong and soothing. "Of course," he mutters, somewhat offended, somewhat relieved.

"You should be grateful," she teases as she helps him to his feet.

"I'll remember to  _shower_  him with gratitude the next time I see him." His voice is acerbic  _but_  self-aware.

It's not that he doubts the Lady's words. Captain Kuchiki probably  _did_  spare him from the Nest of Maggots, but that doesn't make the situation  _much_  better. Does it? Or,  _does_  it?

How confusing, he thinks. All this time, he was roiling with hatred toward Captain Kuchiki. He swore a sacred vow to himself—he would kill the Captain of the Sixth for the violence he perpetrated against Rukia.  _But_ , he couldn't very well keep that promise if Captain Kuchiki had leveraged his power to keep  _him_ , a commoner, safe and secure, could he? However, if he couldn't rail against Kuchiki, then who? Who deserves his malice? The Central Chambers? The leaders of the Gotei 13? Yamamoto, himself?

It's so much easier to hate one single soul than an entire structural  _failure_ , isn't it?

Lady Kuchiki offers him his Zanpakutō with a knowing glance. "I thought you might need  _him_."

Gratefully, he takes it from her, and he bows, low and deep. "Thank you, Lady Kuchiki."

She ignores this display. Perhaps she is accustomed to such grandiosity. Perhaps she isn't. Maybe she expects more out of him now that he is a Vice Captain. Maybe she doesn't. Either way, she digresses. "I always assumed Zabimaru was a  _he_. Am I correct in this assumption?" She speaks the words as she turns to the jail bars. She doesn't seem  _that_  interested in his answer. In fact, if he's being completely honest with himself, she seems to be fighting back some sort of pain. Her hands grip the small of her back, and she represses a grimace.

"Zabimaru is," he begins, unsure of how much would be appropriate to divulge, "well…"

She tilts her head closer, allowing them more privacy.

"Zabimaru is…sort of…well…a combination. He's a nue." The last part comes rushing out, and he stares at her, partly embarrassed, partly  _proud_.

Lady Kuchiki gives a satisfied nod to herself. "But a he?"

"The snake and baboon are he's."

A grin lengthens her lips. "Good."

From the upward inflection of her voice, he wonders if she had a wager on the gender of his Zanpakutō.  _Good_  sounds like something he would say if  _she_  were to have a  _son_  instead of a  _daughter_. But, then again, it's not like Lady Kuchiki would engage in such trifling things—like  _bets_. She's wealthy, secure, and ladylike.

Then, his eyes flicker to the molded hairpin, and he remembers that she is one of his own—a kindred spirit. Despite how expertly she wears the noble mask, she seems to delight in her ability to shed it with such ease.

"Come, Vice Captain Abarai." She moves toward the entrance of the cell.

When she reaches the open door, she gives him an inviting glance. "Please, lend me your strength."

His hands are at the belt of his hakama, and, with a few hasty motions, he affixes his Zanpakutō to his side. "Where are we going, Lady Kuchiki?" he asks.

"To save Rukia, of course."

The words roll off her tongue so naturally, with such ease, that he relishes the small jump in his heart. "Yes, milady."

He does not question her direction as she leads him from the division, winding a strange zigzagging path from the division to the neutral boundaries of Seireitei. She does not speak a word as she steps across the cobblestones, and he does not inquire after her motives and plans. He merely keeps to himself as he trails behind her.

When they reach their destination, the sun is beginning to peak out above the horizon. Dawn paints the sky in vibrant colors—red, burnt sienna, and blinding yellows. He appreciates the light. He doesn't particularly mind the color. He, however, does not like the terrain. The roads are uneven, unpaved, and pitted, and he doesn't know the area.

Finally, feeling the last of his good will break under the weariness of his mind, he asks. "Where are we?"

She stops short of a massive gate. A strange crest twists the iron, and she waits for the doors to swing back. "Shihōin manor."

He stares at her.

 _What_?

He didn't even realize Shihōin manor  _existed_ , let alone  _where it was_. Now, he knows, and he wonders if it the sort of thing the likes of  _him_  should know about.

"What is here, milady?"

"Plan B," she says, fixing him with a devious sidelong glance.


End file.
